


Showtime

by Peacockery



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, Friendship, Happy Ending, Humans, Monsters, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Self-Reflection, The Surface, The Underground (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Undertale Pacifist Route, change of heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 16:02:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14312259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peacockery/pseuds/Peacockery
Summary: Seasoned as he was, sometimes Mettaton still gets anxious before a show.





	Showtime

**Author's Note:**

> Undertale is one of my favorite games, so I wanted to write a quickie on one of my favorite characters!

His stiletto heels were but dainty taps against the pavement when compared to the throbbing roar of echoes at the end of the tunnel.

Shaking the rigging and bouncing off every prop and cart hastily being pushed around him, the call of a million cries demanded an audience. Images of his splendor smiled back to him from upon their frames while he, a true mogul of the arts and hearts followed the red-rolled path to his new throne. Many years of sacrifice and twisting a soul had all been for a night like this.

The image of her face lit up in his mind, with a twinkle in her eyes and a lopsided tilt to her scaly grin. Even after all these years with now a barbaric girlfriend to worship and a fan club’s worth of new friends, Alphys was no doubt sitting out there in the gilded front row and fidgeting with her tail so restlessly that she was no doubt claiming imaginary rashes made up on the spot. The excitement of any grand achievement never settled well with the poor girl; she wheezed and blushed with the same astonishment in solving an anime plot hole as she did in creating an entire independent robot with her own claws. He envisioned the toothy savage she had long coveted, stretching her gnarled grin so wide it could have been obscene, predatory and glinting with fondness as her lone eye darted between all the tacky clothed dorks in the crowd to her dorkily adorable girlfriend.

Undyne’s snorting chuff had long imprinted in his mind, much like his own awareness of the occasional chokes from his inner fans.

One of the stage hands groaned dismally as he stumbled by, nursing a sore arm after accidentally banging it against a large wooden moon that he was too caught up in reading a text to notice. The whispered moan reminded his boss of family. Blooky was no doubt out there too despite his insistence that large crowds incite feelings of anxiety. He probably had his headphones on, glancing between heads to avoid making any contact with others. Maddie was most likely chewing on his favorite dagger like a dog to a bone, challenging any curious onlookers at trying his patience. 

The chanting bellow of the crowd thundered to a near deafening baseline, the further he walked up. It sounded like all of his starlets were pounding their armrests and stomping their feet in sync with each bark of the syllables in his name. He had to pause in his current step to take a listen. Such beauty made his processors tremble. Of course, the real, true soul that thrummed inside all of the encompassing machinery glowed hot with humbled pride. He had come a long way, from being the dreamy little ghost watching reruns of campy monster shows on his glaringly pink television. The road to redemption had been a long and shameful one, but there was one darling soul out there that equaled his own in its beauty.

Drama, bloodshed and intrigue. It was what the people loved. His early dance into the limelight had been an intoxicating elixir which only grew more invitingly toxic the higher those ratings spiked. He sang, he danced, his stand up was worth many an applause and his cooking shows went toe-to-toe with the late night talk shows he had gleaned many a coin with. His charm had been a horse of many colors, carrying all that ill gotten gold to the deepest, most guarded of banks.

The blood spilled had been obscene, embodying innocence in awestruck viewers who trusted that he could do no wrong. Over the years, fame had spoiled him. Modesty had nothing on loyalty, which could always be tweaked with some clever script edits. Advertising could always be honed. A polished smile outshone the glint of deceit.

Of course, back then the monsters ate it all up. They had no other options in a world so bleak and stagnant from the rest. He had been a star that terrified the darkness, and could ignite hope and new wonder in stifled hearts. The chunky box look could only last for so long until his new body could truly be revealed...and oh, how it had dazzled. An example on what humanity must have truly been like. What the exotic, gorgeous wonders of the world above must have been to the powerful lords which had long walked it. 

Taking another step, he paused once again before putting forth another. He looked down at his ridiculously gloved hands. 

Once upon a time, they had once been crafted for killing humans. The fine print of his terms had said so. Alphys still had her own duties to fulfill, reluctant and sorrowed as she was to explain. Back then he had been so desperate to chase his dreams that his agreement far outpaced revelation to his circumstances. The king had been kind, always. But beneath his sad smile was the vengeful determination to save his people. A human never came, not this far down into the bowels of the forgotten earth...until prophecy invited one.

The robot crossed his arms in the crammed hall, finally tuning out the call to the stage. His lone eye wandered; the unfinished retina laser behind his bangs began to pinpoint all of the passing crew as they trotted and trudged around him. Frisk...that was the child’s name. Equally unassuming as the kind folk currently sporting headsets and clipboards. How wrong he had been to take fate for granted.

It should have been a simple battle, but he had been born to entertain; it was never in his nature to lay a hand on another body. A wince shot through him at all the hypocrisy in his memories, of that poor cat who ran the burger joint and the overworked monsters keeping his hotel afloat…

Times were different now. The blinding determination of the child had won his heart over. A star for the future...coming from the enemy. He had plenty of notes to take.

His mind wandered to thoughts of the king, hoping the sappy old goat had actually taken his reserved seat in the front with the others instead of kindly staying near the back. Frisk had never given details as to how the fateful encounter with Asgore had been like after dancing for their life. In fact, the child hardly said anything. Perhaps they were sitting side by side out there.

A shriek pierced through the organized chants, jolting his processors back into the moment. He grabbed a passing stagehand by the elbow and pulled her in to glance at her tablet. After a few taps, the screen switched from scheduling logistics to a choppy tap into the camera feed. A fond smile tugged at ink-painted lips once he found a shot of the audience reacting to images of him on the jumbotron. 

Something heated within his chasse, though he wasn’t certain if his soul was fluttering or if his fans were stalling again.

Wasn’t that handsome skeleton out there too? Of course. Papyrus proudly declared (with over twenty fan letters and a signed selfie of himself) that he was the robot’s biggest fan, while his dumpy snarkhole of a brother was passionately very much the opposite. Oh, how he hadn’t forgotten the precise calculations behind Sans’ subtle jabs whenever the bonebag comedian ran his routines at the MTT lounge. But...perhaps the little guy was finally warming up to letting his actual little brother fawn and stumble all over himself up close and personal with his biggest idol. Sans would still send sharp glances his way from beneath the sleepy ruse of a careless drifter, but the guy couldn’t be blamed for being protective of his family. At one point the diva of the Underground hadn’t been the most truthful influence.

The unified cheers of his audience were starting to gain his attention again. Slowly, his heels tugged themselves off the floor as he followed the call. Never before had the noise been so loud. The sensors beneath the ringlets of his arm plates crackled from the crisp, fresh air slipping along and under the bands. His synthetic tongue slipped out to taste the light kiss of vanilla and marshmallow embedded in the toasted pigments of his lipstick. If a fully functioning throat had been implemented within his neck, he could finally put to test an old hypothesis of what it would feel like to tighten from nerves. The heat in his chasse started to pool into the circuitry like molten lava from the Core.

The ground started to have a heartbeat, almost afraid of the deep, resonating howls from a million sets of lungs. No show had ever been like this. He knew that the moment he stepped out there, he would look up to the night sky and choke at the sight of endless glitter twinkling down at him. The journey had been long, but through all the stumbles and revelations, to be here right now felt like he truly felt...human.

He could make out the sounds of his name now, being just feet away from the stage that will connect him to the beautiful world Frisk had reunited again. Perhaps, Mettaton truly hoped, that his own sacrifices had truly played a guiding part.

There was no physical need to take a deep breath, but he did so anyway to cool his body before the curtains were cleaved apart with practiced sweeps of his arms.

Showtime.

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out on my blog if you have any extra questions, comments or curiosities. :)  
> socks-on-parade@tumblr.com


End file.
